


energy

by smolarmstrong



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, idk what else I’ve been on a bus for 6 hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 21:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolarmstrong/pseuds/smolarmstrong
Summary: Paul feeds off John, John feeds off Paul. They don’t really know it yet.





	energy

**Author's Note:**

> hey welcome back! sorry to come back with a beatles fic but I’m tryin to learn how to write these guys haha
> 
> so this whole thing is a lil boring and doesn’t make a whole lotta sense but! I’m trying to get used to writing again
> 
> hope n’all like it, thank you for reading!

John saw him jumping all up around the stage, swaying and two stepping and showing off to all the girls screaming his name in the crowd. John saw the sweat trickle down the tip of his nose, reaching the front of his grey suit jacket, splatter painting it a deep heather. John saw his fingers beat against the strings like a woodpeckers beak, saw his adam’s apple dance in his throat as he yelled out lyrics, saw his chest heave for the deep pull of oxygen. John saw all of it, even missed his queue to come in because his eyes were glued to his junior, trained to his energy, his excitement, his pure passion.

The show couldn’t have lasted longer, it drug on like a broken ankle through the wet trenches of war. John could feel his pulse in his corneas, his heart clawing to the back of his throat. He strummed hard, letting it echo through the club as the band took their bow, sweat shaking from their shaggy locks and landing with a splash on the wooden stage. John rushed off, not even waiting for the screeches echoing through out the thin walls of the club. He practically threw his acoustic in to the hands of the nearest stage crew he could and stalked away, long legs leading their way out the stage door for a cigarette.

John cupped his hands against the lighter, blocking the cold wind from blasting the flame away. His weak lungs drew in a heavy drag, coating the back of his throat in ash, burning his esophagus. His brows furrowed in concentration, focusing on anything other than the younger boy probably still on stage, laughing and playing little licks on his little bass and still bouncing like a toddler on a rocking horse. 

It’s impossible, what Paul’s energy does to John. It makes his brain static, white noise on an empty radio station. The only station his brain can tune to his Paul - bouncing, playing, dancing, laughing - it’s all Paul. Be it practice or shows or even dinner in Ringo’s basement, Paul’s energy is all that John can tune into. It keeps him bothered, busy, alive even. Bothered mostly. Perplexed even.

John was in the midst of ripping another drag when the stage door creeped open. Swaying out, high on adrenaline, was the man himself, fumbling through his pockets for his own box of lucky’s.

“Hey Lennon, got a light? Think I lost mine on the drive ‘oer,” Paul mumbled around the fag still in his lips. John pulled out and flicked his lighter quickly, cupping his hand around the flame, keeping it deadly close to Paul’s damp cheek. “Cheers, thanks.” Paul took a deep drag, letting out a steam cloud from his chapped lips. “How’d ya think it went? You kinda flew out, ya scared us,” Paul let out chuckle, keeping his eyes trained on the wall behind the club.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” John took another quick drag, barley letting it hit the back of his throat. “Just got a little bit frazzled, that’s all.”

“Oh, shame,” Paul mumbled, training his eyes to the ground and kicking around some loose stone trapped under his loafer.

“How do’ya have so much energy out there, Macca?” John asked softly, meeting the ground as well, watching the ash wave in the wind as it dipped from the tip of his light.

“Whad’ya mean?” Paul finally brought his shy, sleepy eyes up to John, looking for some sort of clue. “Like, when’m playin? On stage?”

“No, just, everywhere, in general like. Anywhere ya go you’re just, I dunno, so out there. So passionate. So just, yourself, Paul,” John spoke to the ground, keeping his eyes down, almost fully closed. Why was he embarrassed? 

Paul didn’t blink for a second, he just stared. He felt like he didn’t even have to think up an answer, he already knew. “I’m happy to be on stage with you, John. I love singin with ya, writing and making things with you. I’m happy to make sure you’re happy,” Paul paused for a second, his words jumbling up in his skull. “When I-When I see ya get like, one riff or a word you’ve been searchin for, your eyes kinda pop up. They have this light behind em that just, makes me want to play, makes me want to jump and move with you. Being around you gives me that energy,” Paul had to stop, his subconscious would just spilling stuff out if he didn’t stop talking.

Paul kept his eyes on John, eyes wide and determined. For a while, John didn’t move an inch, and Paul wanted to claw his own stomach out and rip out the butterflies himself. It was torture.

And then John whipped his head up, shaggy locks bouncing in the wind. He took his stub of a cigarette, now long forgotten, and stamped it out on the wall before sticking it back in his pocket. Paul still stood frozen, scared about what he said. Was it too much? What did he even say again? Oh god, shit shit shit-

Paul didn’t see John move, not an inch. But suddenly John was on Paul, deep in his personal space, and John’s lips were on his, soft and chaste and entirely electric. It sent fireworks off in Paul’s mind, exploding in a confetti of light and swirling with completed anticipation.

It didn’t last long enough. John was back before Paul even noticed he was there. But Paul could see John smile, could see the same light behind his eyes. Paul couldn’t help but smile back.

“See ya in the car, Macca,” John smiled before strutting his long legs over to their red jalopy, already running to take them back to wherever they were staying.

Paul couldn’t snuff his cigarette out fast enough. 


End file.
